


Wealth of iron

by Elesianne



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beleriand, First Age, Gen, Noldor - Freeform, Thargelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elesianne/pseuds/Elesianne
Summary: Caranthir reflects on the the arms and armour that pass through his hands from the dwarves to the other lords of the Noldor, and the role of this trade in the war against Morgoth.





	Wealth of iron

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this little ficlet by [this meta post on Tumblr](http://elesianne.tumblr.com/post/168575767436/for-the-naugrim-learned-many-secrets-of-craft-in) about how Tolkien specified in HoME that much of the riches that came to Caranthir was thanks to him trading on dwarf-made weapons and armour and materials for them.

_I have become the son most like my father in one respect at least_ , Caranthir muses as he surveys the storeroom filled from wall to wall with racks of weapons, armour and shields. He counts them, makes sure that everything is there that should be. On the racks can be found every kind of instrument of wounding and defending that they had been able to think of in Valinor, and many new kinds besides.

There are not as many here in this storeroom as there were in Fëanor’s hoard in Formenos but they are even better made, thanks to both the dwarves’ skill and the simple fact that there is in Beleriand more expertise born from experience about how to shape iron for use in battle.

If it were not so late – the sun had set while he finished haggling with the dwarves, whose negotiation skills he both admires and curses – Caranthir would go through the rack of maces and take the best out for testing. He wants a new weapon for himself. His formerly shining sword that saw him through many battles became corroded from the foul excretions of a twisted horror of a creature that accompanied a scouting party of orcs that Caranthir and his warriors destroyed a fortnight ago, and Caranthir has a mind to try something other than a sword for a change.

Tomorrow, then, in the early morning before envoys from his brothers and cousins arrive to trade for the wealth of iron Caranthir acquired today. For that is the difference between him and his father; Fëanor forged weapons and shut them up in his iron chambers, keeping them for the use of himself and those most loyal to him alone. Caranthir has more allies, for he counts among them not only those he loves but also those he must by necessity trust, and he passes on the arms that come to him to all of them – that is, all of them that can pay and pay well. He may be cooperative when it benefits him but he is no fool.

As he locks the door behind him and puts the key on its chain back around his neck and under his surcoat, he thinks, _May the difference between my father and his sons be what wins us this war_.

Maedhros believes that it will be, but Caranthir is more sceptic. He cannot deny, though, that their father’s wilful pride and self-reliance and blazing spirit were not enough to get him even to the gates of Angband, only within sight of them. Perhaps trade, alliances and not holding themselves above their allies will help his sons claim victory where Fëanor couldn’t.

If they cannot perhaps nothing can, against one who is still a Vala though a dark and outcast one. But that is a black thought, unwelcome and unacceptable, and Caranthir banishes it to the darkness of the locked room behind him, holding aloft the lamp he took from there. He gives a curt nod to the guards he passes, all of them clad in dwarf-mail of supreme quality, and walks towards the warmth and gleam of firelight from his great hall, seeking better thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is very short but I haven't written much lately so I decided to post it here anyway. (In case anyone is interested, yes I am working on the next chapter of _Your spirit calling out to mine_. I've got 3,000 words done.)


End file.
